


stupid with love-sagna

by plumcat



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: High School AU, M/M, a frankly nauseating number of puns, brotherly prinxiety - Freeform, i listened to a lot of hanson while writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18312035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumcat/pseuds/plumcat
Summary: With prom less than a month away, Roman needs to figure out a way to ask his boyfriend to go with him... but none of his ideas seem to be good enough. So he enlists the help of his twin brother, Virgil (who would definitely rather be hiding in his room and listening to music) to assist him in pulling something together that will make Patton as happy as Patton makes him.Cue the cutest, dorkiest promposal in the history of ever.





	stupid with love-sagna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingdany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdany/gifts).



Virgil was having a great time procrastinating on homework when his comfortable, Hanson-infused haze was interrupted by the sound of the door to his room being thrown against the wall. He quickly closed tumblr and switched the tab to his English essay, poising his fingers above the keyboard as if he’d been doing work.

“Viiiiirgil!” Roman wailed, audible even over the cheerful ruckus currently blaring through Virgil’s headphones. He watched, unimpressed, as his brother staggered across the room and dramatically sprawled out on the bed. “I’m having a crisis!”

Virgil sighed and paused MMMBop. “Can’t you have it somewhere else?”

Roman ignored him in favor of throwing a hand across his forhead a la Christine Daae and letting out another discouraged cry. “My life is over, Virgil! I’m going to die alone and in a cave in Madagascar with only my half-forgotten dreams as solace to my broken heart!”

“Well, that’s too damn bad for you. I’m busy.” He turned back to his laptop, switched his music back on (though at a softer volume than before), and stared at the Google Doc with his essay on it.

Roman huffed loudly, chagrined by this dismissal. There was the shuffling sound of sheets rubbing together as Roman changed position on the bed.

“You don’t look very busy,” Roman pointed out after about thirty more seconds of Virgil pretending to deeply contemplate the next sentence to espouse about the literary themes in The Bluest Eye. “It looks like you’re just sitting there with your headphones on.”

Virgil glanced over at his brother. He was now sitting up against the wall, cross-legged, with a pillow in his lap. The pillow in question had been embroidered by Roman himself when he and Virgil were in second grade. It was ugly as shit.

“I’ll have you know it’s very important buisness.”

“What are you listening to, anyway?”

“MCR,” Virgil lied.

“Ugh, you’re so emo.”

“It’s the brand. Q&A over. Like and subscribe. Now get out.”

He stopped the music again and flipped his phone over for good measure. The damage that Roman knowing that he listened to 90’s pop— no matter how much it slapped— would do to his reputation was too horrible to bear.

Roman didn’t move. He met Virgil’s glare with an charming smile, propping his chin in his hand.

“I  _said_ , get out.”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Roman trilled.

“I’m older.”

“By three minutes!” Roman squawked, indignant, and chucked the pillow at Virgil. It caught him in the shoulder.

“Three and a HALF minutes!” Virgil lobbed it back.

“Twenty seconds! You can’t round up by ten!” Roman snatched it neatly out of the air and fast-balled it at him.

“Yeah, well, you can’t round down by twenty!” Virgil barely managed to dodge the incoming missile, which probably would’ve taken off his head. being the unathletic twin was a curse. It hit the floor some five feet behind him. Virgil went to go pick it up and threw it back over his shoulder. It plopped pathetically onto the bedspread.

Roman laughed and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. “How did Logan ask you to prom?” He asked after a moment.

“I mean, he didn’t  _really_.” Virgil said, sitting back down and turning his chair to face his brother. “Since we were already dating I just assumed we were going together and then he was like ‘what color do you want our bouttonieres to be’ and that was it.”

“That is the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Virgil had left out the part where Logan showed him a fifteen-minute PowerPoint of several different potential flowers and their meanings. He didn’t think it would help his case.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, Prince Smarming, what would you have done?”

“That’s the problem!” Roman moaned. “I don’t know! Prom is in less than a month! And I haven’t asked Patton yet!”

Virgil sighed. “Roman, you guys have been together for six months. I don’t think there’s much of a chance that he  _won’t_  go with you.”

“I still want to actually ask. That’s, like, half the fun of prom.” He made a face at Virgil. “Not that you and your emotionally stunted boyfriend would know.”

Ignoring the jab, Virgil leaned back in his chair. “I’m assuming you’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Well, I did come up with a couple ideas.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Just a second.” Roman reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out a folded piece of lined paper. He unfurled it, smoothed it out, and cleared his throat like a storyteller of old preparing to regale a crowd with the tales of some brave hero. “Number one. I get the marching band—“

“Uh, no.”

“Alrighty. Number two. I dress up as a prince and sing—“

“NO.”

“Jesus. Fine. Number three. I paint the courtyard with—“

“Roman, what the hell? Give me that.” He leaned over and snatched the piece of paper from him, scanning over the scribbled bullet-points that were ideas four through twenty-seven. Each idea was worse than the last. “These are all ridiculous. Patton is totally gone for you, he’d say yes even if you asked in a McDonald’s.”

“I’d never do that!”

“Yes, I know, because you’re fiending for the unattainable ideal that is fairytale romance.”

Roman sighed. “I just… I want this to be good for him. He’s so good to me. I know he’d love anything I did, and that’s, like, almost worse somehow! Because I want to do something that is worth him loving it. I have to— I have to prove—“

“You don’t have to do anything,” Virgil said. “Look, the reason he’d like anything you do is not because you’d be the one doing it. Because, for some godforsaken reason, he loves you. Okay? You don’t have to prove that you’re worthy of it.”

“I guess,” Roman said, scrunching up his face. “But I still want to do something cool. You’re so smart, V, if you help me, I bet we can think of something that will make him as happy as he makes me.” He turned on the puppy-dog eyes. Damnit. Roman definitely was spending too much time around Patton. “You can understand that, don’t you?”

Virgil looked at his English essay. And then back at Roman. His brother had resorted to exaggerated pouting. It sort of made him look like a pufferfish.  
“Fine,” he caved. “I’ll help. But absolutely no marching band.”

* * *

“Oh my god, I know,” Virgil said, laughing, as he stuffed his English binder into his backpack. “Too funny.”

“And then when Mr. Hugh opened the door and then just backed out again—“ Patton dissolved into laughter alongside him, leaning against the lockers for support.

“Highlight of my month,” Virgil grinned, shaking his head. “But for real, if you weren’t in that class with me, I’d die.”

“Aw, I’m sure you’d be okay,” Patton chirped, though he was glad to hear it.

“You seriously expect me to sit through those lectures without my favorite note-taking buddy?”

Patton gasped, sticking his face close to Virgil’s and wiggling his eyebrows as ardently as he could manage. “You looove me,” he sang.

“I said nothing of the sort,” said Virgil.

“I  _inferred_  it. Ha! That's a vocab word! Where’s my A, Ms. Young?”

Virgil shoved him away, but he was smiling. “Don’t tell anyone, it’ll destroy my reputation.” He slammed the locker shut and swung the backpack over one shoulder. “Alright! Let’s go.”

As Patton started towards the door heading into the courtyard, he realized Virgil was no longer beside him. Puzzled, he turned around. His friend was still standing at the lockers, looking confused.

“Wait,” Virgil said, “Don’t you have to go to your locker?”

“Oh, I got my stuff together before last period.” He moved to push open the door.

Just before he could step outside, Virgil ran in front of him, throwing his arms out like a basketball defender and effectively blocking the doorway. 

“No!” Virgil said, looking oddly panicked. Patton blinked at him. “I mean. Don’t you want to, uh, double check? In case you’ve forgotten something?”

“I’m pretty sure I have everything,” Patton started. Virgil’s eyes widened in panic, so he quickly added, “But if it’ll make you feel better—“

“Yes,” Virgil said fervently. “It would make me very very happy.”

Patton shrugged. “Okey-dokey then.”

Virgil sure could be a bit of an odd duck sometimes. But that was okay. If an extra trip to his locker could somehow soothe even one of his friend’s many anxieties, Patton was more than happy to oblige.

The lockers were sorted by last name, and Patton’s (Foley) was some distance away from the door, which was located closer towards the end of the alphabet. On their way, they ran into Logan, who was going in the opposite direction, but not for long, as Virgil quite literally dragged him into accompanying them. 

“You have successfully made your point, now please let go of my arm,” Logan grumbled.

Virgil did so, though once he had, he held out a hand expectantly. Logan rolled his eyes, switched the paper bag he was carrying to the other hand, and linked their fingers together.

Despite Virgil’s worries, Patton was confident he had everything he needed, and so didn’t bother to take his backpack off before inputting his combination and swinging the door open. Immediately, he realized something was off.

The haphazard pile of stuff that was normally strewn all over his locker had been pushed against the wall so that it was now only strewn all over the back half of his locker. Utilizing the freed-up space was a medium-sized tray, meticulously covered in tinfoil. On top of all that sat a small white card, standing up like a place card at a fancy dinner party. The only visible side— the front— read “PATTON” in the swoopy cursive that he recognized as Roman’s.

Patton glanced over at Virgil and Logan, who did their best to look innocent.

“Do you know what this is about?” He asked.

“No clue,” said Logan, unconvincingly.

Patton plucked the card off the tray and opened it.

_Dearest darling treasure of my heart,_

It began.

_I’ve worried about the best way to go about this for quite a while. It seemed like an impastable task. My first instinct was do something big and fancy and extra-cheesy, but when I thought about it, I knew you deserve butter. I’m tortellini head-over-heels for you and your angel hair and pretty eyes and fusili jokes. I get butterflies every time you point that gorgeous smile in my direction. I just hope that this note I’ve penne-d conveys even half of the things I want to taglia-telle you. I may not be able to properly communicate my feelings in words, but I’ll do my best to show you, as long as it takes. I should stop rambling and spaghetti to the point. So…_

“You look like your face is gonna split in two,” observed Virgil.

Patton touched his face and realized that he was indeed grinning like an idiot.

Tucking the note under his arm, Patton pulled the tray out of the locker. The metal bottom was warm in his hands. He attempted to balance it on one forearm, the edge nesteled into crook of his elbow, but it wobbled dangerously and in his efforts to keep it from falling, the note fluttered to the ground. Patton frowned.

“Well that’s peachy.”

“Here,” Virgil said, and stepped forward to take the tray. Logan picked up the card from the floor and placed it back in his open locker, leaving Patton two free hands with which to unwrap the newest mystery.

He had a faint idea what this might be about, an idea that made his stomach erupt with happy butterflies, but he had no clue what was under the tinfoil. If Roman came up with it, there would be no guessing. He was wildly unpredictable, and that was one of Patton’s favorite things about him.

Alrighty, then. Nothing for it.

Carefully, he peeled off the tinfoil to reveal…

A lasagna. A cheesy, buttery, sauce-dripping, slightly-burnt, really-lopsided, lasagna.

And on the top, spelled out in marinara sauce, was the word “PROM”?

Patton clapped a hand to his mouth and let out a noise like a teakettle.

“Turn around,” said a voice from behind him.

He did so, and found himself facing his boyfriend, cheeks dimpled into a nervous smile,  clutching a bouquet of heart-shaped balloons. He was staring at Patton, those pretty gold-flecked eyes wide with a blend of affection and anxiousness, an open vulnerability that made all the bones of Patton’s legs turn to jell-o. Patton was positive that no one had ever looked cuter in a varsity jacket.

“Hey, Pat,” Roman started.

“I thought we nixed the balloons.” said Virgil, still holding the lasagna.

Roman flushed, running a hand through his hair. “Well. Yes. But I thought I might as well because, I don’t know,  it’s just a stupid lasagna and I kind of burned it anyway—“

Patton, who had been squealing excitedly for the past minute and therefore not breathing, abruptly broke into a coughing fit. Roman’s eyes widened in horror. “Are you okay?

“I got overexcited,” he wheezed. He caught his breath. “I’m great! Go on!”

“Alright, if you’re sure. I mean, you know where I’m going with this but I wanted to say it for you—“ He trailed off, looking at a spot over Patton’s shoulder.

Patton glanced backwards and saw Virgil mouthing, “GET DOWN ON ONE KNEE.”

He turned back around to find that Roman had done just that. He was beaming up at Patton, that movie-star smile that made his heart do backflips, wide and bright and tilted slightly farther up the left side of his face. He always ran his hands through his hair when he was nervous, and it seemed he had been doing just that, because the soft brown strands had fallen out of their meticulously styled coiff and cascaded over his forehead like a waterfall. 

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Patton parroted. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He realized he was still holding the tinfoil, continuously crinkling and uncrinkling it.

“I’m really, really nervous right now,” Roman whispered, as if he was telling Patton a secret. He held up a hand to show that it was, in fact, shaking. Patton grabbed it and pulled it up against his chest.

Roman laughed. “I can feel your heartbeat.”

“I love you,” Patton said, because he did.

“Shit,” Roman said. He looked like he was starting to tear up. “I love you too. And, oh man—” He took a deep breath. “Wanna come to prom with me?”

Patton squeaked and dropped to the floor in front of Roman, sitting back on his heels. He let go of Roman’s hand in order to grab his face instead, pulling him down until they were almost nose-to-nose. He wanted nothing more than to kiss his boyfriend’s pretty face off. But first he had to make something very clear.

“I LOVE your ‘stupid lasagna’ and I’m going to eat every single bite of it!”

“Oh,” said Roman breathlessly. “Is— Is that a yes?”

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Patton kissed him.

The small crowd that had gathered in the hallway began to cheer.

Roman was so startled he let go of the balloons. They floated upwards, like little sea snakes swimming through the air, and bonked against the hallway’s high ceiling. Patton barely noticed. His mental capacity was currently very full, considering that one of Roman’s hands was in his hair and the other was on his knee and he could feel his boyfriend’s smile against his lips.

He felt a similar smile spread across his face, followed by a single giddy giggle, then another and another, until kissing was kind of impossible and they were just sitting there, tangled together, foreheads pressed together and breathless with laughter.

“Did you like it?” Roman asked.

“Honey,” Patton said, and kissed him again, softly. “I adored it.”

“Your glasses are crooked,” Roman said, and they started giggling again.

Patton kissed him once more, because third time’s a charm, and when they pulled back this time he was breathless for a whole different reason.

A couple yards away, Virgil stepped on Logan’s foot. “Now!” He hissed, phone camera at the ready.

“This is ridiculous,” Logan said. At the pointed look from his boyfriend, he sighed, reached into the brown paper bag, and listlessly tossed a handful of confetti over the couple.

“Disgusting,” said Virgil dreamily, snapping a steady stream of photos as the sparkling pieces of paper danced through the afternoon sun like multicolored snow. Logan chucked another handful, most of which caught in Patton’s hair. Laughing, Roman raked a hand through the curls and showed his boyfriend his glittery fingertips before pressing a single heart-shaped piece of confetti onto the tip of Patton’s nose. “I might throw up.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a birthday gift to the wonderful dani (@notveryglittery on tumblr) who is, like, the sweetest human being in the history of ever. ily <33
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! Comments and kudos make my heart very happy. Also I now kind of want to write an analogical spin-off about Logan’s bouttoniere PowerPoint would anyone read that


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